


Joyride

by aliensundermybed, Anyawen



Series: cigars and cigarettes [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), The Hour (TV)
Genre: 007 Fest 2020, Attraction, Don't copy to another site, Gen, M/M, Sass, annoying and annoyingly helpful neighbors, art included, art prompt, stinky cigar smoke, team00, teamvillain, with motorbikes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:40:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25583761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliensundermybed/pseuds/aliensundermybed, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyawen/pseuds/Anyawen
Summary: Freddie is running late. His new neighbor is being annoying. And helpful. And still annoying. Very, very attractive. Annoying! He definitely meant annoying!His neighbor likes him, too.
Relationships: James Bond & Freddie Lyon
Series: cigars and cigarettes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933087
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Joyride

**Author's Note:**

> Alien made art. Then poked me to ask about making fic for it. She had a prompt. I wrote it. There may (will) be more.
> 
> Posted for 2020 007 fest's Crossover Day.

Freddie glanced at his watch and cursed under his breath, then called out a goodbye to his dad and closed the door of the flat behind him. He was late. He was very late. And he was only going to be even later given that cabs this time of day were hard to come by, so he was going to have to take public transit. Or walk.

Honestly, walking might be faster.

And what was that smell?

Oh. Right. Mr. Bond and his cigars had moved in to the first floor flat. But his door was closed as Freddie passed it at the landing and continued down, and the smell was only getting stronger.

And there he was, looking better than he had any right to. Bond was leaning against the door frame watching foot traffic outside. His short blond hair was gleaming like burnished gold in the weak London sun. He was smoking a cigar.

“Mr Bond, I believe I’ve asked you to confine your air pollution to your own flat,” Freddie said as he reached the bottom of the stairs, his irritation with his lateness, Bond’s foul-smelling smoke, and his thrice-damned good looks, evident in his sharp tone.

“I’m standing outside,” Bond replied, giving Freddie a charming smile.

“You’re not, actually. You’re standing in the doorway. And if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for work.”

Freddie dodged around Bond and walked quickly out to the kerb. He glanced around for a cab, knowing it was fruitless. And it was.

A hand caught his sleeve and he looked back, scowling, at Bond. Freddie marveled at how the icy blue of the man’s eyes could be so warm.

“I can give you a ride, if you like,” Bond said, somehow managing to make the offer sound suggestive.

“There’s no need to be crude, Mr Bond.”

“While I wouldn’t be opposed,” Bond said, smiling, damn him, “I meant a ride to work on my motorbike.”

Freddie could actually feel his mental capacity drop as his blood flow was rerouted southwards. 

“You have a motorbike?” he asked.

“I do,” Bond said, dropping his cigar and grinding it under his foot. “Come on.”

Freddie glared at him, not moving.

“Mr Lyon?”

“Mr Bond. I would be glad of a ride to work, if it’s no trouble. Thank you. Before we go, however, would you kindly dispose of that properly rather than leaving it to litter my front step?”

Bond smiled and bent to retrieve the cigar butt. Freddie turned away rather than ogle the very nice arse displayed by the movement. He was already arguing with parts of his anatomy about their interest in the man and his motorbike. He didn’t need to add to his troubles by staring at his … attributes.

Against which those bits of anatomy were going to be closely pressed for the promised ride to work. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea.

“All right, mission accomplished. Come on, then. This way,” Bond said heading down the street.

Freddie found himself following. He did need to get to work. He was late. And he had leads to present to the team to convince them to keep looking into Ruth’s murder.

Bond casually swung a leg over his motorbike and righted it, starting the engine and letting it rumble.

“Hop on,” he said, sliding a bit forward in the saddle to leave Freddie room.

“Where do I hold on?” Freddie asked as he climbed onto the bike behind Bond.

“Hold on to me,” Bond replied, and barely waited for Freddie to put tentative hands on his waist before he pulled away from the kerb.

* * *

James grinned to himself as he felt Mr Lyon clutch at his waist, hands sliding forward so his arms were wrapped around James’ torso. He took the scenic route to nowhere for a bit, feeling his passenger shifting about behind him.

“Why are you squirming around so much?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” Lyon replied, loosening his grip on James and putting some space between them.

James turned back to face front and deliberately hit a pothole, jostling them together. The evidence of Mr Lyon’s interest was a rather delightful development.

Some might describe Frederick Lyon as skinny, sharp, and abrasive. James thought he was lithe, perceptive, occasionally too blunt in revealing truths others would prefer to stay hidden, and obviously part bloodhound, part pit bull with the way he’d scent a story and follow it, refusing to let it go. He was … compelling.

He was just what James needed to make his cover as a newspaper reporter work. And he liked him. Liked annoying —and apparently arousing— him.

“You realize you haven’t told me where we’re going?” he called back over his shoulder.

He heard Lyon grumbling into his back before his voice hissed into James’ ear.

“I’m late for work, Mr Bond. I don’t have time for a joyride around London!”

“Perhaps another time for that, then,” James replied. “And relax. The beauty of a motorbike is that it can cut through traffic. So, where are we going? I’ll get you there.”

“Crouch End. Lime Grove. Off of Haringey Park.”

“All right. You might want to hold on.”

“I am holding on, Mr Bond.”

James didn’t bother responding, instead angling the motorbike between the cars to get to the head of the line of traffic waiting at the intersection. When he reached the front of the line he revved the engine and grinned, shooting out into the intersection and leaning into a turn.

Mr Lyon clutched at him.

James grinned.

When they pulled up in front of Lime Grove studios twenty minutes later, Mr Lyon climbed a bit unsteadily off the back of the motorbike and straightened his suit.

“Thank you very much for the lift, Mr. Bond. I appreciate it. Also, I hate you very much.”

“Anytime, Mr Lyon,” James replied, smiling.

Lyon rolled his eyes at him, but seemed unable to stop his lips from quirking up at the corners as he turned and walked away.

James waited for Lyon to enter the building, enjoying the view.


End file.
